Method Man - New York lyrics

[Intro] Okay, Yeah, yeah, [?] Back for another one b**h, Let's do it, Ha Staten Island stand up,(okay) Long Island stand up, (okay) Jersey, Yeah, Brick City n***a Funk Doc [Verse 1] Yo, I'll start this rhyme with how y'all feel in this b**h I'm finna to spit, got steel in my grip But I ain't talkin bout guns, I'm talkin mics, n***as stealin my sh** Then try to act like they ain't feelin my sh** Now if we talkin bout ones, I'm Russell Simmons I be talkin in tongues f** where you from and all the n***as you brung Punk, My clan don't sleep son, I put that on each one Be cool until the heat come, these pussies might eat some n***a this is not pop music, unless your tryna pop shots to it Why would you have that Glock and not use it How could you hear this joint and not lose it You stupid, You need to shot from cupid to get love for this music Diamond in the ruff, Like iodine, Find me in the cut If not, probably find me in a s*ut, if I buy me a Dutch That means Mef Man's back with the stuff, Lot of back talkin backin it up [Chorus 2X] Now I like bein the man, I like weed in my hands I like my G's in advance, But y'all don't understand Me no like, fake n***as that ain't got the game right Me no like, when y'all k**as pop sh** and can't fight [Verse 2] Back in the zone, No backbone He stepped on and spat on, n***as don't last long If I don't get some act-right soon, I'm gonna act wrong I ain't tryin to get clapped on for makin these rap songs If you're misunderstood pimp, what would the hood think? To know that I've been swindled, bamboozled, and hoodwinked These rappers ain't like me, they see that there might be More to me then some Air Force Ones and a white tee, I'm nice B 6 foot 4, Un-cut raw, pocket full of straws, I'm that n***a to look for Want paper like a book store, ain't never been shook poor I switch from Method Man to Candy Man and the hooked off Still ain't nothin sweet though, Who wanna spit flows First learn to put the weed inside the bag and then get dough, (Then get dough motherf**er) Tell your peoples and kin folk, I been dope, Anything else is an insult. (God damn right) [Chorus] [Verse 3] So obnoxious that I'm toxic, Call that diarrhea Spit that hot sh**, cause I'm hot b**h, And got bu*ter-fingers Oops I drops it, load and locks it, Take the recipe that's been concocted Got women just like a vehicle, Topless First You see what I'm worth, Pullin paper straight out the wood work Until I push dirt, sh** I hate to f** up a good shirt But damnit I'm back, I done relapsed, Shot a dose of some murder I wrote, Then lean back I'm part Ghost, Part Cappa, RZA, And Deck Part Dirty, Uey, GZA, Masta k**a, And Chef But I'm all Mef, All vet, k**ers I'm complex n***as, Have yet to blow up, Nothin but bomb threats New York yall, Shoot or shank me, I bleed Yankee I'm hot dog, Yall ain't nathan to put it frankly I find excuses to finally lose it, Then write exclusive And he like VH1, You know behind the music [Chorus]